


30 Days of Sentricity

by num0ur1que



Category: Homestuck
Genre: "makeouts", 30 Day OTP Challenge, Adorable, Boyfriends, Cuddling, Hal is a little shit, M/M, Oh God Yes, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/num0ur1que/pseuds/num0ur1que
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dirk and Hal are the pawns of my 30 day OTP challenge (AKA something adorable, now shut up and read).</p>
            </blockquote>





	30 Days of Sentricity

"Hal, what are you doing?" Loud, obnoxious smacking noises and the sensation of something moving pressed against your hand wake you from what /would/ have been the best nap you'd most likely had in a week. Sooth to say you're not happy when jarred out of it by what you can only - and hopefully - guess is your auto-responsive, android-turned-boyfriend. Although what the hell he's doing is beyond you, seeing as you can't look down over the edge of the tattered sofa from the angle you're lying on.

There's a small, airless huff, and then the sensation briefly leaves the back of your hand, only to return more insistently. Like he's /trying/ to mess with you for fuck's sake. "'Making out' with the only part of you I find suitable," comes the mildly derisive, snarky, and muffled response. Probably accompanied by the familiar sight of a small grin or smirk. Again, you can't see. 

"My lips are up here," you mutter into the cushioning and close your eyes. 

"Too bad. I'm enjoying this hand. I'm even considering leaving you for it." A loud smacking sound and oh my fuck you think you're going to die.

A groan. "That hurts, Hal. That hurts me deeply, right down to the depths of my soul." 

"You may thank me later for it, Dirk. But here, in compensation-" The feeling leaves your hand briefly, for what you only halfway hope is good this time, and you feel something press against your cheek, then something else resembling only what you can describe as having the texture of a raw, flour-coated chicken breast sloooowly scrape up a small patch of it. 

Boyish cackling resounds down the hall and his footsteps are already receding before you can bolt up in surprise, leaving you to wonder just what exactly in the sweet, metaphorical fuck he touched you with.


End file.
